


Winter Rose

by anguy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anguy/pseuds/anguy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet. A Hunger Games/ASOIAF crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Rose

Deftly, he plucked one of the winter roses from the vase. It was swollen with water, open nearly the stem and as cold as eyes of the dead. The girl sat across from him-her face a mask. She had the look of the North. Eyes of slate and hair a lush brown tied neatly away from her face in a slight braid.

“Why?”

Her tone was accusing, her eyes hard-everything about her poised and ready to strike. She reminded him of the sand snakes in years past, Oberyn’s brood that had been forced into the arena. They were a feisty lot. They’d died just the same, blood warming the sands they loved so much. He shook his head, a withered hand reaching to caress his temples.

He took time before replying, savoring the warmth of a fire that burned merrily in the hearth behind him. “You’re from the North are you not?” He asked-meeting those pale eyes with his own. “I was born in the North. We are much more similar than you think.”

“We are nothing alike,” She spat at him, her face contorted into a look of loathing so deep he wanted to turn away. He found he could not. She did not understand, did not understand that what he did-he did for the realm. All for her, for them-those people who would never respect him. He reached with a hand, a phantom ache to pat the head of the solemn creature that had been in his life for so long but, as usual found the direwolf absent. Ghost had been gone for years. He was always forgetting now; that age began to creep on him so heavily-especially with winter stirring, the cold winds blowing and death calling from behind the Wall.

“I’ve read much of what Maestar Cinna has told me of you,” He said quietly, “You are a bastard are you not? Too young to remember the War of the Five Kings and all of the bloodshed. Smallfolk and kings dying alike. Winter came in the final year and was ever a name so apt for a season? Infants died as they passed through their mother’s wombs. Men died on watch. Death hung in the air and many even looked into his cold blue eyes. I’m sure you’ve done the same-surely with the arena beyond the wall this year.”

She didn’t say anything, a haunted look drifted into her eyes and she hung on the edge of her seat. He knew that look; he’d seen it in many a man’s eyes.

He crossed his arms, hands placed on the table. He sighed deeply, as if all of time; all of the weight of duty and honor had settled into his bones. “We did this for you-for the smallfolk. To stop the death, to stop the wars of attrition, revenge and rebellion. Yes, death will always be a part of the Seven Kingdoms but Katniss is this not better?” Lord Snow asked, settling back in his chair and wishing Ghost was at his side.


End file.
